Chapter Four:
Growing Pains
Summary: Being a fan isn't always easy. Meeting the object of your desire isn't all that it's hyped up to be, either. The Winchesters are certainly no exception, in any case, whatsoever.
Notes: I recently lost my dog. A week ago since posting this chapter, actually. I found him with a bag over his head. I think he was trying to find food, even though he had a full bowl and…I'm just glad my kids weren't there to see too. I based Kosmo on my dog. Losing a fur baby, to some people, is not the same as losing a person in your life. But to us proud fur parents, it's everything. He was a good boy. And he was loved. He was very loved.
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"Boys annoyed her. Girls annoyed her. She should have been a cat."
—Katie Neipris
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Shay's head hurt, and her neck and back were stiff from sleeping in the backseat of the old Charger. Kosmo's whine grew tenfold beside her when he noticed her waking. He was quick to pounce on her, wagging his tail furiously as he panted in her face, pinning her with a warm-eyed stare.
"Okay…okay, I'm up." Shay mumbled sleepily with a long yawn tacked on the end.
The car was parked off the side of the highway, nestled between the overgrowth of low-hanging trees and large dense bushes. It was still mostly dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten up here and there, a prelude to the dawn just around the corner.
Shay fumbled in the dark for a few seconds, trying to locate Kosmo's leash on the floorboard. When she found it, she clipped it onto his collar. Shay swung the back door open, shivering at the faint chill in the air. Kosmo came leaping out after her, trotting out to the grassy area behind the highway. He tugged hard on the leash before finding the perfect place to do his business.
A few minutes later, after she had finished her own business behind a line of bushes, she returned to the car, letting Kosmo in first and sliding in second. Sam was already beginning to wake up as she closed the door behind her, stretching in his seat and mumbling something that sounded like a good morning to her. She returned the greeting, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
"Can you try to get Dean up? I, uh…nature calls."
"Kosmo said the same thing to me when I got up. Have at it, hoss." Shay said, trying to repress another yawn as Sam exited the car. Shay leaned forward and gently pushed on Dean's shoulder. He muttered something incomprehensible in his sleep, rolling away from her and against the driver's side door.
"Dean. Dean, I think it's time to get up." She tried shaking him once again, but a hand snatched up hers before she could, squeezing firmly. Too firmly. Her hand began to hurt. Dean peered at her from the corner of his eye, bleary with sleep but alert enough to show his irritation. Shay glanced the opposite direction, where Sam had exited and nodded toward it. "Sam asked me to wake you up."
Dean watched her for a moment longer before releasing her hand and rolling upright.
"Didn't know you were all tatted up like that," he muttered. Shay glanced down at her bare arms. White Pine had had a chilly quality in the air, preventing Shay from feeling the need to shed her coat. Last night had been an exception. She had used it as a pillow and sat crumpled in the corner of her seat, her arms free of sleeves and showing off the tattoos she had adorned on them.
On her left arm, she had a spiral of sharks—modern and prehistoric—coiling around down to her wrist. Different species were identifiable by size and patterns and colours. Megalodon and tiger, great white and white-tipped reef. Epaulette and bamboo. So many sharks that she had designed herself.
On her right forearm, she proudly displayed the tattoo from Ellie's design on the Last of Us Part II. On her upper arm, another self-made tattoo design of raptors. She hoped to have something new on her right shoulder someday. On the back of her neck was yet another piece, another video game dedication to the Uncharted series—a rose compass encircled by a Latin phrase: Sic Parvis Magna.
Shay rubbed a hand over the back of that one self-consciously.
"I got more all over."
"Like what?"
The words of affirmation were on the tip of her tongue, but she thought better on delving into it all. It wasn't the time nor the place. She didn't believe she had the right to divulge much more than what either of the Winchesters could plainly see.
"I-it's not important right now."
Dean seemed to accept this answer and moved on from the topic, instead choosing to pull out a flask from his coat and down a long gulp. The sight of it made her itch for a drink too. Shay rubbed the back of her neck again. The tips of her fingers tingled as they rubbed over the tattoo imprinted there, hiding beneath the veil of her long hair, as if reminding her it was still there.
The passenger door opened, admitting Sam back into the vehicle.
"Hey," he greeted as he slid into the passenger seat. Dean bobbed his head in return, announced he'd be back, and slipped out of the car next.
"Call of nature," Shay concluded aloud.
"Uh, yeah. Pretty much."
Shay leaned back into her seat. Kosmo groaned and rolled onto his back, inching his head into her lap. She rubbed at his belly and neck in return.
"So, how are you holding up?"
Shay blinked at the inquiry and returned her attention back up at Sam. He was twisted in the passenger seat, arm draped over the back and watching her. She dropped her eyes down to focus on her dog.
"You actually want to know?"
"Well, we've been on the road two days now. You haven't said much since we left Michigan."
"I've been reading…and I've also been trying not to…talk, I mean. I feel like I'm picking through landmines whenever I open my mouth around you two. I…I just don't want to say the wrong thing. Say something I shouldn't. Reveal something that y'all ain't supposed to know about, not yet anyways. Or something that could change something else down the line and make things worse. The whole butterfly effect, ya know?"
"No, I get that. I can understand that completely. But you don't need to clam up completely. I mean…you can still talk to us, you know."
"It would be better for everyone involved if I didn't, though."
Sam didn't get a chance to respond. The driver's side door was flung open, and Dean collapsed into the driver's seat with a loud and satisfied sigh.
"Everyone good?"
"Good to go."
"Dog's good? He isn't gonna whiz in here?"
"Yeah, we're good. He did his business too." Shay said softly, leaning back into her seat. She dove a hand into her bag and handed Kosmo a treat; it was the most he'd eat on car trips. He snapped up the treat and looked warmly back at her, tail wagging against the seat.
Dean keyed the ignition and the engine rumbled on seconds later. Without further preamble, he slid back onto the highway after checking that the coast was clear. Shay studied their path for all of ten minutes before it clicked where, exactly, they were headed towards after they passed a highway sign.
The thought pressed needles all the deeper into her heart, squeezing their razor-sharp tips into the sensitive cracks and crevices.
She'd been on this road before.
They were headed toward Montana.
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The small town of Whitefish in the Supernatural 'Verse, apparently, wasn't that much far off from the one Shay was used to from her own. It was a town in which her parents had moved into close proximity to without actually being a part of its city limits. It was a beautiful place, a little bit tourist-y, but it had its homegrown charms and quirks for a mountain town in the middle of nowhere.
Nostalgia began to swell inside of Shay as they entered the city limits. She knew where the best antique stores were, the best ice cream parlor to visit, and a cute little cooking wares place not far from it all. At least, that was true of her world's version of Whitefish. She perked up when Dean pulled into the Safeway right off the main road, just barely a mile away from the main downtown area that centralized itself around the Stillwater River.
"Supply run," Sam told her. He waved a hand over his shoulder, the universal sign for 'follow me'. She hesitated, reaching for Kosmo out of instinct. Sam turned around in time to see this, lips quirking into a frown. He stooped to reach the window handle and twisted the crank a couple of times, cracking the window open.
"He'll be fine, so long as we're quick. It's not that hot out."
Shay reluctantly slipped out of the car, gently dissuading Kosmo from following her. "Easy, boy. We'll be back. You'll be okay."
He whined pitifully at her as she followed after the Winchesters into the store. It was much the same as she remembered, and it helped keep her from being too jarred. Dean was right; it wasn't that warm out, not yet.
They went through the aisles by the numbers, skimming through the selections. She learned two things that she sort of already knew. Dean leaned towards the slightly junkier foods, Sam the healthier choices. Shay slipped in her own items, calculating prudently in her head just how much cash she had left to pay for it on her own. She noticed the raised brow and questioning stare she got from Dean when she put a sizeable bottle of Jack Daniel's and supply of Coca-Cola into the cart. Apparently, this version of Montana didn't need liquor stores separated from groceries to sell hard alcohol. She had noticed a lacking amount of casinos that doubled as liquor stores but hadn't really thought on it at the time…
Shay deigned to not say a word on her choice of drink and simply continued alongside them. She'd cook her own foods, when possible, and after days of roadside food, she was more than happy to put in the work to bake some chicken, grill some steak, or cook whatever else she snatched up. Her mother's house had always been full of ingredients at the ready. Shay had learned to do much the same.
Shay separated her items when it came time to settle things with the cashier, keeping hers behind Sam and Dean's stuff. She eyed the Starbucks sitting in the back behind the rows of registers. She could already taste the caramel and wonderfully bitter taste of espresso…
"Ma'am? Are you with them?"
Shay blinked, reverting her attention to the conveyer belt and the cashier. She shook her head when she realized what she'd asked.
"No. No, we're separate." Shay replied with a thin smile. She busied herself with gathering up the rest of her cash and held it in a tight grip as she watched the price go up and up and up. She counted her cash again before the woman got to the Jack Daniels.
"ID?"
Shay had it ready to go and offered it up. When the woman was satisfied and the final price displayed, Shay handed off the rest of her bills and got a paltry pile of coins back.
As she followed after the Winchesters, she heard Dean chuckling.
"Y'know, I almost didn't think that lady was going to buy your ID and I assume it's legit. How old are you, anyway? Twenty-three?"
"I'm thirty-four, you jackass. Lay off it."
"No way. When the hell were you born anyways?"
"I was born in '90."
Dean stopped dead cold in place, frozen. Sam only got a few steps ahead before he too stopped. Slowly, Dean turned and looked at her.
"No way. If you were born in '90, you'd be twenty-three, not thirty-four."
"Of course, I'm thirty-four, you don't think I don't know my own…oh." Shay had started to grow indignant, her voice building in volume before she fell completely silent as realization dawned on her.
"Oh, shit." Shay grumbled under her breath, and another weight began to settle on her shoulders, adding to the burdens she's already been saddled with. This was something she hadn't considered at all: when and where had she dropped into the Winchesters' lives. It was paired with a deep-seated annoyance like no other. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm in the fucking past and not just another fucking 'Verse?!"
She groaned loudly, ignoring all stares or reception to her open display of disgust and realization.
"FUCKING TIME TRAVEL!"
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She recognized when they were on Route 93. She recognized some of the ranches they passed. They didn't head north, toward Olney and Eureka, to travel alongside the Stillwater River. They traveled westward, once they cleared past the mountains, taking the road that passed Spencer Lake and Spencer Mountain, past the horse-riding ranch she knew to be nestled at the base of the mountain and beside that lake.
Once they cut further and further west, however, it was difficult to recall where they were. To know where they were going. She had an idea of where they were going.
When Dean parked at last and cut the engine, they were left in front of a small, one-story cabin that wasn't too dissimilar from the place she'd been held up in by Reginald the Leviathan. The difference was that this placed looked cared for. Lived in.
A safehouse to fall back on when the going got rough.
Sam rose out of the front seat, then folded the seat down to allow Shay and Kosmo out. Kosmo immediately bounded out past them all, free to stretch his legs. He pelted right out without reservations, barking delightedly as he moved in a blur. She watched him with a thin, tight smile. The sight served as a soothing balm that allayed her frayed nerves. Just seeing him able to be free, let out his pent-up energy after days of traveling by car…
Sam called her name, and she turned his way to see that he and Dean were gathering up groceries. A sigh rose out of her. Shay tucked into the work, snatching up whatever she could get her hands on and followed them into the cabin. A few more trips of this were conducted before all the groceries were collected. When that was done, Shay turned her attentions to gathering up Kosmo and herding him inside.
Sam already had a bowl of water ready for the dog, and Shay gave her thanks to him in passing as she helped put away cold things into the fridge. It was an older model and it chugged away with a laborious cough from its internal engine. Regardless, it was dutiful in keeping things cold, if its internal chill was any indication to go by.
The chore of putting away food was domestic and familiar. Yet every time Shay turned around and caught a glimpse of either of the Winchesters…
It just continued to remind her of everything.
She had valuable information clattering about inside her noggin. The only saving grace she had was that she was hazy on certain details, and maybe—just maybe—that would help in the long wrong. She couldn't tell anyone anything if she couldn't remember it all with perfect clarity. Right?
Neither Winchester had hardly said a word to her since they left Whitefish. She could see the gears turning in both their heads the entire trip. Perhaps they were thinking about how to get rid of her.
The entire drive to Montana, Shay had been braced for the possibility that she'd suddenly be dumped on the side of the road. She was simply another mouth to feed, an extra butt in the car, and had a dog on top of that. Dean already wasn't fond of dogs.
Hellhounds had probably only further cemented that years ago.
Get your head out of your ass. Shay scolded herself. Not everything is about you.
She was simply exhausting herself mentally and it wasn't helping anyone, especially herself. Out of sight, out of mind. Time to put away the mental baggage.
The last things Shay went out for once the groceries were all inside were her bags.
She'd changed at least once in the last week, and she felt rather grimy after being on the road with no motel resting in sight. Her hair was oily, her face felt dry and on the verge of breaking out, and she knew she could slather on only so much deodorant before it began to fail, and she'd need a proper shower.
"Where's the head," she asked once she was clear inside. There was a long, almost contemplative pause that passed between Sam and Dean. Dean at his brother momentarily, while Sam simply tilted his head, as though he was trying to figure out what he'd heard was actually correct.
"Bathroom?" Shay corrected herself, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
"Down the hall, second door on the left." Dean finally replied, motioning off to the side. Shay nodded her thanks, gathered her stuff and took off.
The two of them stared after her until she rounded the corner and the click of the bathroom door sounded. "Head? She's asking for the head, now?"
Sam shook his head, shrugged his broad shoulders. He paused at the sound of the shower springing to life down the hallway. Seconds later, he could just make out the sounds of music playing softly. He turned back to Dean. "She must've heard you say it once or twice."
"Great, so she's just copying us now."
"Look man, I don't know. We don't exactly know anything about her."
Dean snorted. "And that's probably a good thing. Look…why are we still dealing with her? I get that she saved our bacon, but it was once, and it was barely a save. Give me a second or two more, I could've taken that Leviathan's head off myself."
"Dean…the way she tells it, you were on your ass, and I was out cold. We've had our close calls, before and it was a good thing helped out. And you said it yourself, we could help figure things out for her. Maybe she can stay here, while we're out trying to find a way to stop the Leviathans."
"You really think she'll just sit around a cabin for who knows how long, no transportation, no means to get to town? Just waiting for us to swing by every once in a while, if we're even able to?" Dean criticized, and that drew Sam to a temporary close on the matter. It silenced him as it dawned on him just how flawed that possible route could become. Far from town, with no transport or money, things would get real skeevy real fast for Shay. How feasible could that plan even really remain?
"Then what do you want to do? Grill her for information? Pluck everything out of her head, so that we know how things go in the future, however far it goes for us?"
Dean's lips quirked and his shoulders rose in a slight shrug. "Sounds pretty good to me. She's just sitting on top of gold mine about us, might as well use it."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressing tightly together as his teeth ground against one another. He shook his head in defiance.
"Dean…Dean, no. You can't just torture her for that, let alone discard her after that like she's—she's nothing."
"Who said anything about torture?" Dean snorted again, looking vaguely affronted at the idea. "I said 'grill her'. Not torture her. There's a difference."
"And what if we change things for the worst? What then? What if we change things so much that what would have happened in the first place falls short in comparison?"
Dean stared him up and down piercingly, as if he didn't quite believe what he'd just heard. Sam met his gaze challengingly, waiting. The older Winchester scoffed.
"I don't believe this. What if it changes things for the better? What if we can end things, once and for all? For every crappy thing that's come after us, after all these years? Demons, monsters, Leviathans—hell, even friggin' angels who want to take a piece out of our hides!"
"And taking pieces out of hers doesn't justify anything in the long run," Sam argued back exasperatedly.
Dean threw up his hands and began to pace back and forth across the floor between the living room and the kitchen. He prowled about like a jungle cat trapped in a cage, just waiting for the first opening to break free and let all hell break loose.
"I can't believe—I really can't fucking believe you. We're sitting on a gold mine—potentially years' worth of information that could save countless lives, hunters and regular people alike—and you're just willing to throw it all away to, to what? Pretend that she's worth more than all of that? To let demons continue hurting people, monsters running free, everything else that entails to?"
Sam stared at him, incredulous at the words he just heard come out of Dean's mouth. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding for a long while until it burst out of him.
The silence that spanned between them was crushing, and he wished that this kind of rift hadn't formed between them on this very singular and focused matter they were arguing over. It wasn't unlike many other difficult discussions he's had to fight through with Dean. This was but another on a long list unfavourable topics he's had to endure.
Dean noticed what was off first before Sam did. He stared off past his brother, and it took him a hard few seconds to notice. He swiveled on his heel, only to startle and balk at the sight of Shay standing at the threshold of the hallway.
Neither of them had heard the shower to cease, nor the bathroom door open. And that thing was loud; its hinges were in desperate need of some WD-40.
Her dark hair wet and limp around her shoulders, clothing having been changed. Camo cargo pants, combat boots, and a graphics t-shirt that featured a redheaded woman appearing to be instructing a young boy to use a bow and arrow. An older paler-skinned, bald and bearded man watched on with a vaguely approving countenance.
Kosmo came trotting out of the bathroom, looking none-the-wiser to the tense atmosphere that hung heavy in the air. Shay's face itself was unreadable as her eyes flickered between Sam and Dean repeatedly. She let nothing show, other than a faint guise of annoyance and indignance to play out in short bursts.
"You know," she finally started off slowly, her voice soft but even. "I would appreciate it if you guys didn't pretend that everything's been peachy keen, all this time. I'm telling you here and now, I'm not giving you anything to you guys. Sam's right. Things could change for the worst. End-of-the-world-nothing-we-can-do-about-it kind of worse."
Sam cleared his throat, drawing her attention to him. "That's not what we're discussing—"
Shay held up a hand and shook her head. "You know what, Sam? Save it. I don't care for false platitudes. I'd really appreciate it if you guys had been upfront with me in the first place."
She was shaking with rage, silent accusations and suspicion shining brightly in her blue-grey eyes. It didn't take much longer before the angry tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes and slip down her cheeks.
Before either Winchester could retaliate, Shay stormed out, slamming the cabin door behind her for good measure. Kosmo, predictably, was right on her heels and slipped out with her before the door hit the frame.
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Montana wasn't called 'Big Sky Country' for any small reason. The great yawning expanse of open skies and rolling open country and great rising mountains that put even the tallest of skyscrapers in the world to shame was always breathtaking to Shay.
Shay found she couldn't even enjoy being there, not with her head swarming with cyclical thoughts angrier than a kicked hornet's nest buzzing about in her head. The hot air was abrasive and soupy to her skin. Her hair was drying quickly, while sweat was already beginning to perspire under her arms, along the small of her back, beading along her forehead. Kosmo was quick to abandon Shay for the leisure of pelting across the open property, ducking in and out around trees and underbrush. She watched him as she crossed the grassy pathways towards a tree that was further out from the cabin than the closer clusters beside the cabin.
It reminded her of the summers spent at her parents' property right on Stillwater River.
She wondered if that property—while not her parents' now, in the year 2012—was still in existence, in this universe. She wondered if she were to drive down Route 93, she would see the turnoff off the side of the highway, just before the turnoff for the Stillwater Bar…
As soon as Shay's back hit the trunk, she slid down to her butt and drew her legs in close, hugging them to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees, soaking in the coolness of the shade as she tried to allow calm to come back to her.
She breathed in the fresh air, letting it sit in her lungs for longer than normal. Gradually, the electrified agitation quelled, and she no longer felt like punching someone in the face.
"What a pair of idjits those two make. Am I right, or what?"
Shay gasped, air squeezing straight out of her lungs like a blow to the gut. She scrabbled upright to her feet, hand flying to her chest as she whirled around. As she caught her breath, she saw who the speaker was, but even the familiar sound of his voice had been confirmation enough.
Bobby Singer stood behind her, in all his plaid and jeaned and bearded glory.
Shay stared at him up and down, fighting past the dryness invading her mouth and throat.
"Y-you…weren't in the cabin when we arrived," she started, and immediately regretted it before diving forward with, "so…ghost?"
Bobby snorted softly. "Faster on the uptake than them."
"Uh…t-thanks?" Shay finally managed to swallow down some spittle. "I…guess you know who I am, right?"
"Shay Kenway, or that's the name you're going by for now. Saw your ID, briefly."
"Right. I'd prefer Shay, if it's all the same."
"Fine by me."
"And you are…?"
"Like I really need to tell you. I know I've only been getting snippets, but I have enough to gather an idea of what kind of situation you're in."
Shay clapped her jaw shut with a clack of her teeth and she clenched it for good measure.
"Oh, don't clam up now. You seemed to have plenty to say to those two just now."
A nauseous clench of her gut left her feeling angry and sick at the thought.
"Then why the hell are you talking to me, if you've 'got an idea' of what's going on, huh? Apparently, I'm enemy number one just for existing and being a fan of a show where I come from."
"Please," Bobby scoffed with a roll of the eyes. "They've got their heads so far up their asses about something so trivial compared to the big picture that they're wasting time taking it out of your hide."
"And what is the trivial part in all this? My life is gone. I destroyed the only thing that could put me back where I belong, and…and I'm…" Shay's voice betrayed her and she drew her eyes down to stare at the ground. Her hands fidgeted at her sides until she began to pick at her cuticles and shuffle her feet. She began rubbing her tongue piercing in rolls with her tongue.
"Well, now I'm startin' to believe you're about as stupid as those idjits inside."
Shay lifted her eyes long enough to glare at him, a derisive and self-deprecating comment dancing on her lips that was so tempting to let loose. Instead, she just barely managed to withhold it, even as she found her temper mounting, exasperated at her very own situation, and Bobby's seemingly lack of understanding.
"Do you even understand the implications of what damage I could do here? How much I could hurt Sam and Dean if the wrong person found out what I knew? The last thing I want is to do that!" The words were acid on her tongue and the sooner she loosed them, the sooner she'd be free of the burning agony they left upon her. Shay pushed away from the tree she'd been seeking shelter and physical support under from as she advanced closer towards Bobby's spirit.
The thoughts of Crowley, Metatron, any other power-hungry angel, Amara, Lucifer—even God, aka Chuck fucking Shurley—coming after her ass, using her to hurt the Winchesters, or Castiel, or any allies of theirs…
She would rather be ganked on the spot before all of that could come to be. She knew she wasn't meant to be here. The thought of ripple effects came back to her. Ripples seemed small enough on their own, but enough of them could allow unexpected changes in the long run. Terrible, powerful changes. Shay didn't want to be that cause of those ripples.
Bobby closed the distance between them in a split second. Suddenly gone one second, there the next. Shay startled at the there-and-back-again movement. The air around her grew startling colder, sharp and merciless.
"Jesus—!"
"Now you listen here, girl. Those boys need every damn lick of help they can get. If you've got information that can give them an edge—"
"I can't, don't you understand—"
"I understand completely, the whole Bradbury butterfly effect and all of that," Bobby shot back, drawing Shay back into silence. He glowered down at Shay, and she was much too frozen to move away from him. The air was chillier, the longer she lingered in Bobby's presence, driving back the blistering summer heat of Montana. She also couldn't help but admire his vague but recognizable reference towards Ray Bradbury's A Sound of Thunder. Then she backtracked on that thought.
The remnants of fury building up in Bobby's eyes quashed once he saw Shay wasn't fighting him any longer. He seemed to take a breath, but it wasn't much more than a display of living humanism. A ghost, after all, didn't need to breathe. The indignant part of her reluctantly died down, but she could feel it lingering just beneath the surface.
"I'm sorry," she said out of reflex, her voice quiet, strained. "I guess I'm still adjusting."
"Adjust faster," Bobby replied bluntly. Shay winced, but she nodded nonetheless to him, admitting her agreement to the statement. She really did need to, didn't she?
"How do I get those dumbasses to listen to me, then?"
"Leave that to me." Bobby promised, just as a thought struck Shay in the moment. She started forward, stopped, hesitated.
"Wait! Wait, please," she pleaded, and Bobby, before he could disappear, looked to her, head tilting in her direction, waiting.
"Please. Please, be careful. About that stupid motherfucking jackass, Dick. If you…if you keep going, you're going to hurt people. Really innocent people that don't need to be hurt. I can only imagine how hard it is for you. The rage for the asshole who murdered you." Shay inhaled deeply, ducking her gaze purposefully so she didn't have to look into Bobby's eyes. "But please…please. If you act out more and more, it won't help anyone, especially yourself. Dean and Sam—they find a way to kill Dick Roman. I can't tell you how or when but trust me when I say this, he goes back to where he came from."
She couldn't recall how many times she said the word 'please' but it was all she could offer in platitudes, for a stay of permission, to beg. Shay didn't want to see Bobby Singer devolve into an angry, revenge-hellbent spirit. He would hurt more than help in his quest against Dick Roman.
Bobby Singer, alive or dead, was better than that.
Back when she'd been nothing more than an ignorant fan, she had admired Bobby Singer as a role model, hunter, father-figure. He hadn't deserved the death he'd gotten at the hands of Dick Roman. He had gone out with a whimper instead of a bang. Bobby had deserved so much more than that.
Bobby stared after her for a long time, unmoving, expressionless. She had hoped for more of a reaction, but at the same time, didn't expect much more from a ghost. Those existed now.
The thought struck her odd in the midst of things. A lot of things existed now.
Shay had never been a believer in much of anything in her world. She had always been an atheist at heart. She knew fundamentally that the Supernatural world worked on different laws than her own. She didn't even know if her plea was enough to change Bobby's mind, given his current state.
She could beg until she was blue in the face, but it didn't mean he'd listen to her at all.
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